


to carry the weight of the beast

by fallingbird



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Angst, F/M, One-Sided Relationship, one-sided
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-10
Updated: 2015-02-10
Packaged: 2018-03-11 14:10:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,578
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3329183
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fallingbird/pseuds/fallingbird
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Absence is a beast never sated, feeding on the pain of its victim's howls. But sometimes, its grip loosens; sometimes, it becomes a dim thought begging to be whisked away.</p>
            </blockquote>





	to carry the weight of the beast

**Author's Note:**

> After a long wait for Ao3 to start releasing invitations again, I finally have an account! I've been writing Bellarke for a little while now and all works have been uploaded to Tumblr. With a few edits, I'm moving those pieces to here for the sake of reaching an even wider audience. I hope you enjoy this piece!

Absence echoes louder than emptiness. Bellamy Blake knows this; he was victim to the vicious fangs every day he entered that apartment after he tried to quiet the howls in his mind (  _oh, the place could never be home, not when both of the most important people in his life couldn’t smile at him, couldn’t fill the room and the ache in his chest_ ). And this beast came to visit him again and again the moment he first decided to pull the trigger. Every person lost rang of hurt and of the knowledge that they would never return.  _May we meet again_  were hollow words when they follow his every footstep.

But this absence is marked by Raven’s screams and how tightly he has to hold her so she doesn't fall too hard, too fast in the beast's jaws. This absence isn’t just an ache for Finn (  _who had changed too much but held that old sacrifice in his eyes despite a darkness that would have ruined them all_ ). 

No, this absence, this howling of longing for this hurt to end, is because the moment Clarke steps ever so slowly through the gates, Bellamy sees that she has lost so much of herself in one blinding moment (  _and that they have lost her too_ ).

And he can’t even walk to her. He has to hold Raven, keep her preoccupied so she doesn’t blame Clarke further ( _but that doesn’t work; her screams are enough to make clarke flinch_ ). Bellamy sits, staring after the princess with tear-stained cheeks stagger to her tent. She allows her mother to hug her along the way, and she wraps her arms around the woman’s shoulder, but it’s like — like she’s a doll making the stiff movement she's programmed to do.

She releases her mother, but doesn't look her in the eyes. She doesn't turn to him, to anyone; she simply continues, everyone parting as she walks by.

Yes, she is a princess in that moment. One with the blood of first love on her hands, and Bellamy has to stare back at the fires of the Grounders because he can’t help Clarke with this.

He closes his eyes as Raven’s angered cries turns into strangled ones of loss. They set a staggered rhythm to his thoughts of how survival has costs and the beast sets too high of a price.

~

Whenever he hears the clop of hooves, he flexes a hand over his pistol because there is never going to be an ease of tension. The truce is one of convenience and he isn’t naive. This is  _war_ , and everything is more susceptible to breaking.

But for now, the Grounders and the Sky People work together. The trading of knowledge and training still has flaws, but ultimately, there is a familiarity to the sight. Preparation has similar patterns, but frankly, he wants this war to end so he could lay on his back, stare at the stars, and finally b r e a t h e.

He wants this for everyone. Maybe (  _probably_ ) even more so for Clarke. And it’s this last thought that directs his path to her tent, where she has holed herself in because despite what progress she has with Lexa, he knows they drain her and he _knows_ she’ll stare at her hands afterwards because death isn’t something you can simply wash off and forget.

He finds her curled up in the corner on the sorry excuse for a sleeping bag. She barely lifts her head to see who disturbs her, and once she registers it’s him, returns to staring at nothing. Or maybe she’s staring at something ( _like a ghost of a love she cannot and will not ever forget, and he knows that feeling because he has enough experience in wanting what can never be his_ ).

"Clarke," he whispers, but it might as well be the loudest of alarms with how deathly silent this space is. The noises outside seem to bounce off the tent; it’s only his breathing and hers that he can hear.

She doesn’t answer him. And he desperately wants to approach her, and even starts doing just that before he stops himself. Her burden is not one he can carry with her because this isn’t them leading a camp, but about them mourning and aching and suffering from an absence whose fangs are too sharp and deep to ignore.

Yes, he aches for her to come back not just to them all, but to  _him_  too, and it’s selfish and stupid. But after so long of only thinking of Octavia and his mother  _and everyone else_ , he thinks this is the healthier way to be selfish compared to how he roared under the beast's weight.

"Clarke," he repeats, stronger and clearer. This has her looking back to him and he tilts his head in response.  _What do you want me to do?_  he pleads silently, and with it, he wordlessly begs for her to understand their language that still comes so easily when needed.

She shakes her head.  _Not now, not now, not now_. And he knows he should turn away and give her time, but he finally decides to push because that’s what they do.

He takes the necessary steps forward, blocking her vision of whatever she saw across from her. "You did what you thought was best," he murmurs. It is different from the justification tossed so carelessly nowadays that it has become hollow. But this string of words is what he can offer her, and there is a prayer that plays in his mind that she will accept it.

The silence stretches for so long. But he stays because he can see her turmoil play in her eyes and he knows his words didn’t fall on deaf ears.

"I did it." Her words cut through the air like a jagged knife cutting open skin. Right then, she looks so  _weary_ , and he slowly kneels so she doesn’t have to strain to look at him. 

"That’s all there is, Bellamy," she whispers as her fist tightens over her chest. "I did it. That’s what stays and I--I don’t know if I’m strong enough anymore to carry it. Because all I can see is him slumped on that post, and feel his hands trembling against me, a-and how his heart jumped when I slid the knife into him."

She pours forth this confession like she’s trying to be matter-of-fact, but there is not enough breath in the world to keep her voice from cracking. 

"I’m going to have to live with this."

She doesn’t cry. He thinks she has run out of tears, or that she believes she isn’t allowed to cry anymore over this. But he hates that she has to live with it, and she hates it too, and they both silently agree that they are just kids with hands that will never be strong enough to carry absence.

Pressing his lips together, he reaches for her. And the moment his fingers wrap around her arm, her own locks with his. It’s not holding, but rather grounding each other. This is as familiar as preparation, and maybe he was wrong about helping her carry her burdens. An additional hand can only help so much, but as he watches her keep her gaze on her watch, he can imagine it does enough.

~

He waits for her in the Grounder camp, eyes trained on the grand entrance of Lexa’s tent. The talk is short, and Clarke emerges from the tent with her head high. The Grounders part for her, and yes, she is a princess with the weight that royalty delivers resting on her shoulders. When she catches sight of him, she jerks her head back to their camp, and they shortly (  _and so naturally and effortlessly_ ) settle into walking side-by-side.

"What did she want this time?" he asks as the grass nipped at whatever bare skin it could find.

"Final tactics and another map I could draw from memory of Mount Weather. She thinks we’re ready," Clarke answers. "But my mother has to agree as well."

"Your mother really likes to triple-check herself that she’s sure about anything."

"She does what she thinks is best," she softy says.

Bellamy finally peers at her, lips thinning in understanding before he nods. They walk the rest of the way in silence, and once they pass the gates, Clarke heads to deliver her report to Kane and Abby. But he stops, staring after her, watching that familiar gait that resounds  l e a d e r  in his mind.

"Hey."

She pauses and looks over her shoulder. " _Hey_ is for horses, Bellamy,” she says with furrowed brows and a slight wrinkle to her nose.

Oh, all of it has him laughing, and it's a wonder how it turns uncontrollable when her frown deepens. 

"Bellamy,  _what?_ " 

He shakes his head and shrugs. “Never mind. Question was answered.”

She lifts her chin and he raises an eyebrow in challenge, but she dismisses him and his soft grin for the trip of debriefing.

He might never have the ache in his chest filled, but right then, Bellamy Blake also remembers the feeling of the pain lessening, of himself recovering. Absence fades like a scar still kissing skin, like a sharp breath of happiness. 

The beast loosens its grip on him, and there is solemn relief as he returns to work with the image of a wrinkled nose. 


End file.
